


Teen Idle

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Bullying, Depression, Eventual Fluff, F/F, High School, Homophobia, POV First Person, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Northwests have always dominated the school social hierchy, and Pacifica is no different. She always loved being in the spotlight, the way the crowds around her made her feel, the satisfaction of getting what you want. The truth is, Pacifica is merely an actor on the world's stage: pretending to have it all and be the best.(Title and chapter titles are songs by Marina and the Diamonds)





	1. Primadonna

        There's sadness everywhere if you try to look for it. The man delivering your mail, the small boy staring and talking to a tree, the woman scanning your items at the cash register. Glancing at her bright blue Wal-Mart nametag, I can draw that her name is Rachel. By the looks of it, she's about 40 or so, and her life doesn't appear to be anything special. There's no wedding ring- or any ring, for that matter- dawned on her poorly manicured nails that badly need filling. There's no expensive shoe brand claiming her sneakers that peak out through her 80s-esque mom jeans. As I study her scanning my school supplies I'll use 20% of, I wonder what she thought she would be doing when she was six years-old. If i were to guess, i would not say this.

 

        It's August and the school year is coming around the corner. I can't say I was ever a fan of sitting down for seven hours at a time to learn things I'll never use in my future, but it is kind of enjoyable. Everyone there treats me like a star, and I am, aren't I?

 

        "Would you like a receipt?" Rachel asked me with a frail smoker's voice that made me want to gag.

 

        "Um, yes, please," I say, just barely having my head peer over the counter.

 

        "Alright. Here you go, ma'am."

 

        I give a polite little thank you as I grab the receipt and slip it into one of the three bags I have to carry home.

 

 

* * *

 

 

        As I walk, I think about how my parents would much rather stay at home watching soap operas than aid their daughter in something every parent should do. And so as I wallow in anguish, I dig my hand in my pocket for the hundred dollar bill my parents gave me for my birthday and turn into the Mystery Shack, planning to waste it all in an act of summer's "Last Hurrah."

 

        Lo and behold, two specific twins stand behind the counter giggling about who knows what. 

 

        I look around, mostly seeing cheap and useless merchandise that tourists would just eat up. There's a pile of books in the corner, with cheap paper covers and a promising synopsis variety. They're all from local writers, and they're about the size of a Harry Potter novel. I don't read often, it's not my idea of a good time, but I get one that'll maybe buy me some brownie points with my parents for getting a "head start in your learning!"

 

        The giggling had stopped, and as I look through the hats I'm suddenly tapped on the shoulder.

 

        "Hey, miss. Do you need anything?" I recognize the voice instantly as Mabel Pines; it really hasn't changed.

 

        I turn to look at her, and apparently everything else  _has._ She's practically towering over me using her long-ass legs that are revealed shamelessly from under washed blue shorts. Her hair hasn't stopped growing, either. Even tied in a high ponytail it reaches her waist. I don't know why I'm staring. 

 

        "Miss?" Mabel asked with a joking smirk.

 

        I tilt my head a bit, wondering why she keeps addressing me like a stranger. She mirrors me and giggles a little bit, breaking her mask, "I'm just kidding, Silly. Where've you been?"

 

        I bring myself to laugh, too, though she scared me for a second. 

 

        "I've just been... busy." I glance around and lock eyes with Dipper, who immediately averts my gaze.

 

        "I get that..." Mabel and I share an awkward silence and stare at each other, "I should get back to to work..."

 

        "Oh, yeah. Yeah."

 

        The rest of my visit is short-lived and full of painful, dull air. When I leave the store with a book and a keychain, I'm dissatisfied with myself and my remaining 89.93 dollars. The air outside feels different than before: breezy and unknown. It's almost a reflection of how I feel.

 

        How edgy, right? I'm a 14 year-old misunderstood priveledged girl, just like every self-insert fanfiction on the internet that stars the boys of Sevral Timez and other Teen Vogue treasures. And I'm very much aware that I could play the "Everyone thinks I'm a bitchy popular girl when I'm really not" card, exempt from the fact that I am, in all honesty, a bitchy popular girl, through and through. Everytime i think im redeeming myself, I get one more intrusive thought. Everytime I start to become more vulnerable, I play out one more harmful, distancing action. It's like I'm a shell that's playing out the Mean Girls stereotype with no empathy or compassion. An AI programmed to always want to be the best. Even my own friends don't like me. I  _am_  breezy and unknown.

 

        But that all sounds stupid. Whenever I try to explain this to my mom, she tells me that I have no reason to be sad because I may not have a mansion anymore, but we are still "quite a bit richer than the other people in this town." She explains that she felt that way when she was younger, but she quickly grew out of it. She also kindly explained to me that I better start being grateful.

 

        And so I stay quiet when the roots of my hair get re-bleached a gross and unnatural blonde. I stay quiet when my parents harass another poor man on the street just trying to get by. I stay quiet when I'm forced to be my own parent, but get everything that I actually care about planned for me. I'm quiet because I have the perfect life, and I have no reason to complain.

       

        They say that self-realizing people are depressed, but I don't think so. I feel the same type of sadness I always felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I held your interest this long? Wowie you didn't have to do that


	2. Starring Role

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Suicide/death mention and graphic depiction of an anxiety attack

     So this is what all the fuss is about?

     Poorly lit classrooms and low grade lockers you have to share with a sketchy guy named Germaine that you're pretty sure hasn't showered since Bush was the president?

     But, yay, high school.

     I've slowly lost and gained friends throughout the previous year, but Kalleigh and Yasmin have stuck with me despite my slight decrease in reputation. According to Kalleigh it was a "hard blow" but she thinks she'll be fine.

    We talk to each other about pointless drama that none of us actually care about for a few minutes before we head to meet our teachers. Girls like us love to make good impressions, it's how we got to get away with things.

     The school is a maze, enriched with students of varying heights, clothing, and body odor. How many times do I have to mention body odor for you to understand- it's a real problem. It's a miracle I even find my math classroom- or at least I think it is, before I see Grenda furiously tapping her desk with her pencil from the back of the classroom, not noticing me walk in. I take a seat in the front and we're about the only two there, the teacher gone and doing who knows what. 

     Without thinking, I loudly snark, "Careful Hulk Hogan. Don't want to break that pencil."

     With her low, gruff voice she mutters, "Shut up, Pacifica."

     I can't stop. It's so like me to do this that it's almost effortless when I continue. "Why aren't you off banging it out with you girlfriends Mabel and Candy, hm? They finally get annoyed by your dialect?"

     "God, Pacifica, where do you get off?! Don't you have anything better to do?" She pauses then mumbles, "Besides, Mabel left town a few days ago."

     "Bummer," I snide while others start to pour in, putting an end to our friendly conversation.

     Yeah, I hate me, too. 

     

     At lunch my group of friends and I find a spot where we can eat in the hallways, as the useless cafeteria can barely hold a fifth of the school's population. There's the occasional group that'll walk by us and glare, but I just smile and pretend it inflates my ego even more. My friends laugh and the kids slink away with no glare left in their system. 

     "You're such a petty bitch, Pacifica, OMG!"

     "Hahaha, IKR."

     I stop eating my sandwich and turn to look at Gina. "Did you just say the abbreviation "IKR" in normal speech?" I coldly say, no laugh in my voice. 

     "Um... Yes?"

     "That is  _so_  cringy." I break out into laughter and soon everybody joins me, including the girl who admittedly does not look like she thinks it's funny. She fidgets with her hair a bit as we continue to make fun of her, and I can tell by her mouth that she's on the verge of tears. I don't stop, though. I never do. 

 

     I'm home and finally there's a moment in the day  in which nobody is talking to me. I settle down on the couch and turn on the TV, changing the station to one of those trash reality shows for housewives,  _of_ housewives. My own parents are of course at their jobs, because that's something they need to do, now for some reason. 

     My mind isn't on the TV, though. The number 10 is. 

     10.

     Ten groups of people walked past me in the halls and blatantly showed that they disliked me.

     Ten whole cliques of people hate me. 

     I hate when people hate me. The thought of it alone feels sour on my tongue and plagues my trachea until the spot in my throat feels clogged and uncomfortable, like something way bigger than me is trying to escape but just can't seem to find the proper way out. My tongue feels suddenly bigger, but any noise I try to make sounds raspy and not like my own voice.

     What is this? What am I experiencing? Did someone poison me? Am I dying? 

      **Would it really be so bad to die, especially with all these people I hurt? What am I contributing?**

**_Nothing._**

**_Nothing._ **

**_Nothing._ **

All these girls follow me blindly, but for what? I know all they want is popularity by association, so why do I still associate with people who don't actually care about me?

      **Maybe because no one else wants to be my friend.**

I've almost stop breathing, and, before I know it, I pass out. 

 

     It's hours later when I finally wake up- about nine or so- but my parents still aren't home. The TV has changed to one of those late night murder investigation shows which are usually more up my alley than that trash TV,  but at the moment it doesn't seem that appealing. I switch it off and spend a few moments in regret, knowing I won't be able to sleep tonight. 

     Thinking back to the whole event that happened, I laugh a little at how disconnected I feel to it, now. Even my laugh feels distant and hollow. 

    God, why did I overreact like that? I can only imagine what that would've been like in front of other people. I really  _am_ a petty bitch. Too erratic. Insane. Crazy bitch. It's so embarrassing. I'm embarrassing. Can't I just get a grip?

     Then, out of no where, my phone buzzes with a text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gee sorry for making you wait so long! School has been a bitch ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. Not An Update

Hey, author here. I haven't had the motivation to work on this since the first few chapters aren't my proudest writing and didn't set up the story well. If you are interested in reading a little less edgy version of this, I suggest following me for when I post it. Anyways, sorry to come out from this horrible coma only for bad news. 


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